


you tore my walls apart from within

by shadesofbIue



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Hurt, M/M, character study? (I think), if you notice the overuse of metaphors, no you didn't, this was just self-indulgent honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27349918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofbIue/pseuds/shadesofbIue
Summary: Atsumu was a jerk; the world knew that much. Kiyoomi knew that much.But Kiyoomi had always thought that the cockiness and the blatant I-act-like-it-hurts-but-I-don’t-actually-give-a-fuck attitude were self-defense mechanisms. Overdramatized or egocentricreactions to everything that made people stop taking his remarks seriously. Façades put in place to mask the fragility that nested within, a constant mantra of “I don’t care” because he lived by the quote “fake it till you make it”.The real Atsumu was never like that. At least the Atsumu that Kiyoomi thought he knew wasn’t.The Atsumu Kiyoomi knew had many walls.Haikyuu Angst Week 2020 Day 2: Texts + Insecurity + "Was I ever enough?"
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	you tore my walls apart from within

**Author's Note:**

> I never expected my virgin HQ fic to be Angst™, yet here I am :'D  
> my brain is pure mush right now, forgive me if there are any mistakes, I might come back to edit it in a few days  
> hope you enjoy!!  
> ++ listen to [this](https://youtu.be/3XqqkrJENB4) while reading for a better experience :D
> 
> 6/11/2020 Update: edited!

Kiyoomi detested perfect weather. Nothing in the world was meant to be perfect, much less the fucking weather. 

So when he tore his eyes away from his phone to look out the window and convince himself that that was his reality, he could sense the palpable embers of hatred roar into life. 

There was just the right amount of cotton fluff clouds frayed across the cerulean blue sky. Gentle sunlight seeped through the blinds, warm on his crisp bed sheets. 

It was like the world was sneering at him.

_ Things are beautiful and going great for the entire world. Except for you.  _

_ You should be happy. Just like the entire world right now. _

Kiyoomi wished he could single-handedly reign in thunderstorms.

  
  
  


Atsumu was a jerk; the world knew that much.  _ Kiyoomi _ knew that much.

But Kiyoomi had always thought that the cockiness and the blatant I-act-like-it-hurts-but-I-don’t-actually-give-a-fuck attitude were self-defense mechanisms. Overdramatized or egocentricreactions to everything that made people stop taking his remarks seriously. Façades put in place to mask the fragility that nested within, a constant mantra of “I don’t care” because he lived by the quote “fake it till you make it”. 

The real Atsumu was never like that. At least the Atsumu that Kiyoomi thought he knew wasn’t. 

The Atsumu Kiyoomi knew had many walls. 

The first outer wall — the one he showed everyone — was the “asshole” wall. Tall concentric curtain walls made of pure condescension that made other people stay away in distaste. 

That was the Miya Atsumu that had a gigantic ego, believing that he was the Sun and the world revolved around him. The one that prided himself as God and acted like whatever he said was gospel. The one that would shove people into dirt for not being on par to his level or for taking half a step wrong.

The second wall — the one where he only allowed those closest to him past — was the actual castle. Weathered bricks splayed with cracks that were stacked cautiously to build his towers, frail and weak, hiding behind his formidable fortification.

That was the genuine Miya Atsumu, the one that cared too much. The one that took insults to heart and pushed himself past his limits because he strived so hard to become the perfect person he couldn’t be. The one that put every single of his shortcomings under a microscope, scared that his flaws will eventually make people leave him. The one that pushed most people away because he was so scared of going through the hurt when they left.

The third and last wall lead to the Atsumu that Kiyoomi fell in love with; an inner chamber at the heart of the crumbling castle that stood unwaveringly even when everything around it shattered. Draped with rich golden silk and luscious mahogany velvet, it embosomed hidden gems within it’s grandeur. 

That was the core of Miya Atsumu. A man who was very much blemished, but still clung tightly to his principles. The one that spread love to other people, love that he couldn’t quite give himself sometimes. The one that never gave up the things and people he treasured. The one that burned as fierce as a fire for the things he held close to his heart. 

Kiyoomi was skeptical though; sometimes it felt as if there wasn’t anything past the second wall at all, and the third wall was just a fragment of his imagination. More often than none, it definitely felt as if Atsumu didn’t see himself past the second wall at all.

Which is why the revelation hit like a ton of bricks. The revelation that he didn’t actually know Atsumu as much as he thought he did. 

And he couldn’t put his finger on where they went wrong. But somehow, the two of them fell apart along the way.

  
  
  


Kiyoomi stared hard at the tiny black block letters on his phone, sharp against the blinding white background, as if the text would disappear if he glared enough. He knew it wouldn’t. But still, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the words glaring right back at him. 

_ “We were a mistake, Omi. We both know it. Let’s just break things off while we can still walk away unscathed.” _

First and foremost, Kiyoomi couldn’t believe that Atsumu actually used proper grammar and punctuation in a text. He didn’t really know if he should appreciate it or be offended by it. Then again, he didn’t really know how to feel anymore. 

He  _ loved _ Atsumu. All of Atsumu, even the not-so-pretty parts. He knew Atsumu could be sensitive, so he tried his best to brush off his imperfections. He had hoped that Atsumu could embrace the fact that he wasn’t perfect, starting from not hyperbolizing his every misstep.

Was he not worth at least a face-to-face conversation? 

Atsumu couldn’t even grant him an explanation  _ in person _ . Apparently, their 2-year relationship meant nothing to him. Nothing more than emotionless black pixels on a chilly glass screen.

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but question if Atsumu had ever been sincere in their relationship. He thought he knew Atsumu better than this. Further thinking brought him to realize that Atsumu did have a thoughtful side, it’s just that maybe he was never worth his sincerity.

  
  
  


You see, Atsumu was scorching flames and Kiyoomi was ice cold water. Atsumu was an idealist, but Kiyoomi tied himself to the ground, to the real things. Atsumu was a hot mess while Kiyoomi was clear-headed and collected.

They knew they were complete opposites from the minute they met and couldn’t stand each other’s asses. But they fell for each other anyways. 

_ “I’m not tryin’ to break your walls down, Omi-omi. Heck, I’m not askin’ you to take ‘em down either. I just want you to let me in.” _

Kiyoomi was conscious that he was what people would say high-maintenence, he had standards for  _ everything _ . From the cleanliness of tables to the distance two people should be apart when they are walking on the streets or in an empty house, he was meticulously specific.

He had thought that he was doing enough. 

Tangible things were easy for him to handle. Perceptible by touch, sight. Real things that existed. Emotions fell out of this league; vague and fickle. 

He had thought that he was doing enough.

He was learning how to share his personal space with someone else. He was learning how to make emotion-based decisions instead of forcing his emotions down as they sprouted. He was learning how to live with Atsumu as a constant in his life.

He had thought that it was enough for the both of them.

Kiyoomi had his own walls, and he let Atsumu in.

Yet in the end, his fastidious standards that stemmed from cleanliness and branched out to his entire life, were just _ too much _ for Atsumu to care for. 

That was his mistake. Walls were meant to keep people outside after all; he should’ve known better. 

Kiyoomi had always thought the world could throw anything at him and he could take it with grace. He knew that everything happens for a reason; if something’s out of his control, there’s nothing he could do except embrace it and work his way through. 

But Kiyoomi had also thought that Atsumu and him were going to last longer than this.

They didn’t.

And as the words in front of his eyes swam and warped in blurriness, Kiyoomi knew that this time, he didn’t have it in him to make it through like it didn’t matter. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Atsumu curled his knees closer to his chest, eyes glued to the small “ _ read _ ” at the corner of his text, right beside the “ _ 3:29 a.m. _ ”

He hadn’t slept the entire night, agonizing over Kiyoomi’s reaction when he finally saw his break-up text. He should’ve known Kiyoomi wouldn’t respond. He should’ve gotten used to it by now. The ice cold water spilling all over his head like a shrilly wake-up call.

He wished he could cry. He squeezed his eyes tight and opened them, still desert dry.

So this was what a broken heart felt like.

  
  
  


Kiyoomi was a freak. Not just a clean freak, he was a weird person through and through. 

But Atsumu knew Kiyoomi’s walls. At least he thought he did.

The first wall was the physical barrier. Gloves on hands and long sleeves over arms; spare face masks in bags and disinfectant sprays in pockets. The one that separated Kiyoomi’s skin from everything else to avoid contamination. The one that made him recoil in disgust when someone touched him. The one that drew a magic circle around him so no one could trespass his sacred personal space.

Even that Kiyoomi was one that Atsumu learned to love. It seemed bothersome at first, but Atsumu eventually realized that being serious about personal hygiene wasn’t as hard as he thought. In fact, he found it comforting after he made a habit out of it. 

The second wall was the emotional lock. Kiyoomi hated spontaneity, especially the instability that came with emotions. He didn’t like it when emotions controlled him instead of the other way around. So he tamed them with cages, safeguarded by his brain so only a neural key could set them free.

This was the Kiyoomi Atsumu grew to understand. He learned how to read the twitches of his eyes, the quirks of his eyebrows, the angles of his lips. When you get starved, you learn to pick up the crumbs. And so Atsumu learned how to feel what Kiyoomi felt through the tiny things he let through.

The third wall kept the real Kiyoomi spotless from the outside world. The one who would bend just a little bit for the sake of other people’s comfort. The one who cherished the support of people who accepted himwithout judgement. The one who didn’t suppress every inch of his feelings when they peeked out of his heart.

Lately though, Atsumu had been thinking that maybe the Kiyoomi with a third wall was just his wishful thinking. Maybe it was just an excuse made up by Atsumu’s heart to justify his blind love for him. 

Which is why when the realization chipped in, Atsumu saw in clarity, how he had been ignoring it the entire time. The Kiyoomi who was truly as cold as he acted.

And he couldn’t put his finger on where they went wrong. Maybe they just weren’t made for love.

  
  
  


Atsumu never used proper grammar and punctuation in his texts. He liked to spam memes and emoticons and abuse the use of capital letters. Still, he had thought Kiyoomi would appreciate a more serious tone when he was drafting out his message.

If Atsumu’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t even know if Kiyoomi actually liked him at all throughout their 2-year relationship. Kiyoomi never made him feel cared for. And what’s worse, Atsumu couldn’t blame Kiyoomi for it. 

Atsumu had spent 2 years with Kiyoomi. He thought he could decipher the words he often left unspoken. 

But he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t. 

Kiyoomi had things he held dear for sure. Atsumu was just never worth his affection.

  
  
  


Atsumu thrived on attention the way sunflowers worshipped sunlight. It kept him going, but it also broke him, the way flowers burn when the heat gets too strong.

He feared of being a dispensable existence; he  _ needed  _ the eyes of other people on him as constant reminders that he mattered. But all those eyes on him made him a gazillion times way too self-conscious about his every move. The more they watched, the more afraid he’d get that he would drive them away if they realized what an inadequate person he was.

Kiyoomi saw through him without even blinking his eyes. 

“ _ More than anyone else, you know that you’re all bluff to hide the emptiness festering within. _ ”

And the world is bizarre sometimes. Because the two of them fell for each other. 

Atsumu was conscious that he was what people would say high-maintenence. He had a paper heart that would crumple at the slightest wrong touch, and when it rained, he drowned. He craved affection like it was oxygen, all he wanted was for someone to  _ understand _ him for who he was. To  _ see _ him for who he was. To  _ love _ him for who he was.

He had thought that he was doing enough. He was learning how to take off his masks and not wear them like a second skin. He was learning how to love himself the way the people who loved him loved him. He was learning to trust that Kiyoomi wouldn’t leave him even after he saw him at all his worsts.

He had thought that it was enough for the both of them.

Atsumu had his own walls, and he let Kiyoomi in.

He let Kiyoomi in, yet he never spared a second glance, dismissing everything like  _ nothing _ mattered. No, Kiyoomi had things that mattered to him. Atsumu just wasn’t a part of those things. 

So in truth, it  _ was _ his fault. Walls weren’t built for people to just waltz in freely; he should’ve known better. 

Throughout Atsumu’s life, he believed that if he kept dramatizing trivial things, the effect on him would be minimized when actual, serious events hit him. Because by then, he would be used to the hurt.

Things didn’t work that way.

And as Atsumu punched his fist into his bedroom wall out of anguish, biting back a scream, he knew that this time, he didn’t have it in him to pretend that it didn’t pain him as much as it did. 

**Author's Note:**

> I literally churned this out as I was riding an inspiration high, which is something that happens maybe once in a million years hah  
> I'm not 100% satisfied with the final product and I feel like this could've been written better to convey my raging thoughts but eventually it ended this way so I'll just leave it like this instead of agonizing over it for the next couple months :/  
> Also, a massive THANK YOU to everyone who read this, I really really hope you liked it (and if you did, do let me know cuz it would mean the world to me <33)


End file.
